The heavy doors of Lucian’s suite closed with a low thud that seemed to echo through Talia’s ribs. The corridors beyond had been a blur—guards bowing, attendants whispering—but now it was only the two of them in the cavernous chamber. Gold-threaded drapes shivered in the draft from the balcony. A fire still burned, but its warmth did not touch him.
Lucian set the letter on the table between them as if it were a blade. His hands were steady, his shoulders squared, but there was a hardness in his jaw she hadn’t seen before.
Talia’s mouth went dry. She opened her lips, but no sound came.
“Sit,” he said, his voice quiet, almost gentle. Yet the command left no room for disobedience.
She obeyed, perching on the edge of a chair as though she were the one on trial.
Lucian remained standing, a
